


this was never my choice, don't pretend you ever gave me a voice

by girlsarewolves



Category: No One Lives (2012)
Genre: Brief Depiction of Graphic Violence, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Lima Syndrome, Pre-Movie(s), slight Stockholm Syndrome issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 23:03:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2485472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlsarewolves/pseuds/girlsarewolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He will always keep you, because you will never walk out that unlocked door.<br/>-<br/>This was not the life you chose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this was never my choice, don't pretend you ever gave me a voice

**Author's Note:**

> For Betty, who was the only actual character in the movie I genuinely cared about (so of course she dies early on and we can only guess that her backstory is a mirror of Emma's; also enjoying how sexy Luke Evans is when he's evil isn't the same as genuinely caring about his delightful asshole of a character).
> 
> Trigger warnings: dubcon/noncon but nothing super graphic. Lima syndrome/Stockholm syndrome issues.

* * *

This was not the life you chose.  
  
He smiles and winks at you from across the bar. There's a boyishly wicked gleam in his eyes and a devilish charm to his smile. These are the things about him that caught your attention, that made you smile back before focusing on your friends again.  
  
These are the things about him that make you flinch now (but only ever on the inside).  
  
Your mother used to tell you, beware of strangers. What she and every other mother meant was beware of strange men. What they should have meant was beware of men, because by the time he slaughters every student that knew you by name, he knows you more intimately than they ever did.  
  
This is how he loves you.  
  
In a cell, in a prison, in a cage.  
  
He approaches you two nights after the wink and shy smile exchange. He's at the very same spot; like he's been waiting for you to show up again. Like he knew you would. He's older than you, but not by much. Not enough that it feels creepy for him to be flirting with a freshly turned 21 year old woman.  
  
You like older. You like the rough edge to a smooth voice. You like the twinkle in his eyes and that impish smile. You like his fingers brushing over yours but never going further. You like the perfect gentleman that you know is hiding a complete scoundrel.  
  
(You think, much to your shame later, that you will love the complete scoundrel. To your shame and horror and guilt, you do.)  
  
There are nights when he touches you, fingers brushing over yours and not going further, that you want to scream at him. Hit him, claw him, kick him, bite him; demand that he stop being that gentleman. Part of you wants him to hurt you, force you, dig his fingers into your skin the way you know he wants to, because you're tired of this game.  
  
You don't want to give him permission, and you don't want to obey when he gives you orders.  
  
But you do; every time.  
  
Sarah screams when he slits her open from stomach to throat. It becomes a gurgle in the end, blood bubbling from her mouth. Her eyes are open when she hits the ground, staring at you under the bed. There's enough life left that a hand slowly slides toward you, reaching for help or maybe to just point accusingly.  
  
Reasons don't really matter because she's dead by the time he drags you out. He presses his face to your hair and inhales; his bloody hands holding you like they have a dozen times before.  
  
This is how he loves you.  
  
When you cower, when you cry, when you cave.  
  
He apologizes in the morning. He tells you, "I'm sorry. I tried to be normal, but it just doesn't work." And then he packs you into the car and takes off for the next town. He tells you not to struggle, you might reopen your wounds.  
  
Five days later you hear the news talk about all of your blood found at the scene. That the police are still searching (for your body). You wonder if your mother is quietly crying and saying, 'Why didn't she listen to me? I told her to beware of strangers.'  
  
You try running and he always finds you. You try bribery, begging, hateful screaming and insults, but it's only a few months before you're nurturing him back to health when he bleeds all over you to remind you that you love him. To prove that he loves you and trusts you and knows that you need him like he needs you.  
  
This is how he loves you.  
  
By pretending this is what you chose.  
  
And you know that no matter what you do, or what the new girl doesn't do, or the next, or the next, he will never end it. He will always keep you, because you will never walk out that unlocked door.  
  
It's a relief when the metal slices through your throat.  
  
And maybe it is a cop out; maybe it is the easy way. But it's your way; not theirs, and not his.  
  
This was your choice.


End file.
